Strange Dreams
by Romana Dante
Summary: John Smith is trying to grade papers late one night, but the ticking of the clock in his room is distracting him. Small scene with John Smith set during Human Nature. Spoilers for that and FOB.


I wrote this in response to a prompt for Creative Muses on Live Journal. The Prompt was: _"To dream of a person you would like to be is to waste the person you are" - Anonymous_

I had a specific line from _Human Nature_ in mind while writing this...but I can't remember what the line was...if you can remember, let me know. Enjoy!_  
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He hadn't meant for it to happen. Alone, exhausted, sitting at his desk in what most would assume to be complete and utter silence, but what to him sounded loud and distracting. A simple, consistent, pulsing sound repeated itself over and over again, as he sat attempting to grade the day's papers.

The ticking of a clock.

He wasn't sure why, but for some reason the sound comforted him. As distracting as it was to hear the ticks and tocks of time passing steadily around him, and as much as he knew he should be focusing on something else, he enjoyed listening to it. The steady beat of the clock offered a bit of solace from the typical unorganized madness of the school, and as he sat alone in the middle of the night, trying desperately to get something done, he realized the ticking was beginning to make it harder and harder to concentrate.

_Tick…tock…_

His eyes began to become heavy.

_Tick…tock…_

Perhaps if he just rested his head, just for a bit.

_Tick…tock…_

And perhaps, his eyes as well.

_Tick…tock…_

His eyes closed, his head met his arms rested on the desk, and he listened.

_Tick…tock…tick…tock..._

And then, before he knew it, he was someone else.

_His two hearts beat rapidly in his chest, as he stands in the center of the chaos. Fear and hate and fire and loathing fill the air around him as he watches innocent people die around him. The sound of explosions echo through the night, and two large, terrifying metal machines hover high above him. He's seen the machines before, he's sure of it. He knows them, and they know him, and the prospect of fighting them is terrifying, but seeing the suffering they cause forces him to act. It's an irresistible impulse, and with it, he rushes to the front of the crowd, holding out his arms as he faces the machines._

_"All right!" he shouts up to the metal creatures, "So it's my turn! Then kill me! Kill me if it'll stop you attacking these people! KILL ME!"_

_The metal creature gives a response. It's cold, emotionless, calling him it's "greatest enemy" and saying it will destroy him. His normal instinct would be to run, but in this state, in this body, as this person, he welcomes the destruction._

_"Then do it!" he shouts, a mad passion in his eyes, desperate to save the people around him, "Do it! Just do it! DO IT!!" The creature lifts up a cold, metal arm nothing more than a gleaming stick in the darkness, and points down at him, ready and willing to kill. He stares up at it, thousands of emotions, hopelessness, longing, passion, desperation, caring, fury, but the only thing missing is the one thing he thinks he should have. Fear._

_He stares up at the machine, the look in his eyes daring it to actually kill him, daring it to end his life and stop the destruction. Fearless, a Lord of Time._

_"EXTERMIN-"_

_"Mr. Smith?"_

He jolted upright, pulling himself suddenly back into the reality of the moment. He was in his room, at his desk, a paper stuck to his forehead, a clock ticking steadily beside him. He looked up to see his servant, Martha looking down at him with a look of concern. He was home, he was human, he was John Smith again.

"Mr. Smith?" she asked. He removed the paper from his forehead and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm here, I was just-"

"You were screaming," she said, looking somewhat disturbed, "you were screaming for someone to…for someone to…"

"For someone to kill me," he finished for her, "I've been dreaming, I must of dozed off…I wanted something to kill me, to end my life and spare the lives of others around me. I was desperate."

"Doesn't sound too pleasant," Martha noted, staring down at a test paper to the right of his hand, "were you…were you him again?"

"Yes," he replied, "Yes I was, a particularly dark adventure this time, I have to say, I think I truly wanted to die."

"Yeah," Martha agreed, her eyes looking strangely sadder than normal, "you probably did. But you don't want to now, that's the important thing. It's just another story to add to your collection, another thing for the journal." She pointed to the test paper, "What's that?"

"What's what?"

She pointed again, "What's that?"

"Oh," he said, looking down at the test sheet and dropping the pencil he only just realized he had in his hand, "I don't know."

It was a small, circular symbol, made up of rounded lines and small circles. It gave the impression of being a miniature star chart, but for some reason, he suspected it was absolutely nothing of the sort. He gazed down at it, the clock ticking in the background, a strange sense of familiarity coming over him.

"What does it mean?" Martha asked, quietly.

"Night," he answered automatically, without thought or reason behind it, "it means night."

"How do you know that?"

He looked down at the paper, then stared at her blankly.

"I don't know,"

The clock continued ticking as Martha left the room, leaving him alone to his papers, in the dark, quiet night.


End file.
